“Aspiring Bakers, to your stations!”

  Professor Genoise could have saved his breath. The five first-years had been standing at their respective counters in the exam hall, ready and waiting, for a solid ten minutes. Still, the Presentation headmaster was never one to miss out on a grand moment.

  What was it Boysen said before the welcome feast? Lyra found herself musing. Wouldn’t be the Royal Academy of Magical Baking without a bit of ceremony.

  As if to confirm her thoughts, all three professors raised their silver magic baking wands in a solemn salute.

  “You have two hours to complete your second term final exam cake,” Professor Puff announced. “As always, you are forbidden from conferring with your fellow bakers, or from making any noise whatsoever.”

  Professor Honeycomb’s smile was as wide as ever, but her voice sounded strangely formal in the large, mostly empty room. “We wish you the very best, Aspiring Bakers. The exam begins… now!”

  The three professors touched their silver baking spoons together, and a soft magical chime sounded through the exam hall. Five work-stations erupted into five concentrated whirlpools of silent activity.

  Lyra was glad to be moving at last. The temperature-controlled space felt colder than usual, and she had been shivering as she waited for the exam to begin. Perhaps it was the weather. She had risen early after a restless, anxious night to a sky heavy with dark thunderclouds. The exam hall’s large windows gave the first-years a perfect view of this brewing storm, and Lyra couldn’t help feeling it was all rather ominous.

  She shook her head and busied herself with measuring butter into her mixing bowl.

  It’s just nerves, she told herself firmly. The chill, the sky: it’s all normal exam-time jitters. Focus on the magic. Focus on the baking.

  At least ‘focusing on the magic’ was even more pleasant than usual. Thanks to her tutoring sessions this week, almost every spell she was using for her exam cake now had some association with Cardamom. He had devoted both of their evenings together to exam practice, coaching her through multiple rounds of repetition on each element of the recipe. She could almost smell the cinnamon and honey in the air as his voice echoed through her memory.

  “You’re something special, Lyra…”

  Another shiver ran down Lyra’s spine, this time of excitement.

  She was something special. And it was time to prove it.

  Texture came first. Adding sugar to the butter in the mixing bowl, Lyra launched determinedly into Master Chiffon’s Aeration Charm at the intermediate level. Since she was also trying not to sing in her head, she dared not attempt the spell’s advanced version.

  It turned out that the professors’ constant harping on ‘repetition’ was well-founded. Lyra had practiced this spell so many times over the past two terms, and especially during the last few days, that she was now able to get through it consistently without musical assistance. She didn’t feel as confident as she had while singing through the first term exam, and she didn’t enjoy it nearly as much, but she successfully maintained the correct pace for each varying stage of the charm.

  It worked. After the twenty-seventh recitation, a wave of blue light surged out of her hands and sank into the cake batter.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned to the second magical Texture component. Lyra felt a bit more secure about Madame Pavlova’s Spell of Fluffening. She had used it in her final entrance exam cake, so the tempo was even more deeply embedded in her muscles than Master Chiffon’s charm.

  Unfortunately, the tune she had written so long ago was also engrained more irrevocably in her memory. It was almost impossible to ignore.

  Lyra gave her head another emphatic shake. Then she began gently ladling batter into three prepared cake tins, pausing between each spoonful to recite Madame Pavlova’s short spell. The song was blaring through her mind, oblivious to the fact that it was both unwelcome and unhelpful, but she pressed on.

  Thankfully, Madame Pavlova had been a kindly soul, and her spells were the most forgiving examples of Texture magic available to young bakers. The ‘Spell of Fluffening’ took effect quickly and played quite nicely with Master Chiffon’s aerating magic. When another, even more vibrant wave of blue light encompassed each tin of batter, Lyra felt safe that the cakes would be both light and exquisitely moist.

  She allowed herself a quick internal melody as she put them in the oven. No spell-music, of course. Just a short run of ‘The Joy Song’ chorus to celebrate the fact that second term Texture work was officially behind her.

  Now she could turn her attention to Flavor. Madame Hazelnut’s Deepening Spell was an old friend at this point. Lyra felt the knot of tension between her shoulders loosen slightly as she whipped cream to stiff peaks. Moving with confident care, she added sugar, followed by the first round of vanilla and boysenberry. Then, barely closing her mouth in time to catch an escaping hum, she mentally recited the short spell… and listened.

  Professor Honeycomb had emphasized Madame Hazelnut’s Deepening Spell throughout the second term. The first-years had used it at least once in every weekly project. That meant Lyra was now familiar with the distinctive sound of several different Flavors once they reached the perfect level for a particular dish. None were quite so loud as garlic, nor as overbearing as cinnamon, but each was unmistakably distinct.

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  This was the one component of this week’s practice sessions that had no association with Cardamom. He had left her basically on her own for Madame Hazelnut’s spell, trusting her instincts to listen correctly. She had failed to mention that the Flavors never ‘spoke’ to her like they did to every other baker she knew.

  They sang.

  It doesn’t matter, she told herself firmly. You’re not singing the spell. You can listen. You can’t control how the message arrives.

  Holding her hands over the bowl of frosting, Lyra listened for the duet of vanilla and boysenberry. Her face twisted into a grimace of concentration.

  Too much boysenberry. It’s not supposed to be that loud.

  It was a problem Lyra had run into frequently over the week of practicing. Vanilla was such a gentle flavor. Its song was pervasive, but easily buried by higher or more complicated melodies.

  She added a whole teaspoon of vanilla and recited the spell again. After a few moments of listening, she nodded.

  Better. Now a pinch more boysenberry, for brightness.

  That was the other side of the problem Lyra had set for herself by choosing these two Flavors. Vanilla in large quantities could drag down the whole dish into a dark, cloyingly sweet tune. A sharp counterpoint like boysenberry was a perfect solution, but only if one got the balance right…

  After a few more rounds of adding ‘a pinch more’ of one and ‘another dash’ of the other, Lyra was satisfied. Both Flavors were singing at an appropriate volume in her mind. The boysenberry provided a clear descant above the vanilla’s rich melody line that lifted without overpowering. Best of all, green sparkles had surged out of her fingers and were dancing above the bowl, revealing Flavor magic was at work in the frosting.

  Perfect, she thought. Then she took a deep breath, setting her mouth into a grim line. Time for The Soufflé Sisters Cooperation Chant.

  Though this was arguably the simplest of the magical components Lyra had chosen for the exam, it was also the one about which she was the least confident about. Perhaps it was the spell’s notoriety that made her nervous. The Soufflé Sisters were famous in the lore of magical baking.

  According to legend, though Professor Honeycomb swore it was historical fact, Madames Rose and Honey Soufflé were two famous sister bakers whose taste buds refused to agree. When one demanded more salt, the other called adamantly for another cup of sugar. Though both Flavor masters, their instincts seemed to exist in a constant state of direct opposition. Their mutual baking ventures always ended in disaster.

  Until they wrote the Cooperation Chant.

  Since the start of second term, Lyra had heard a few conflicting stories about how the spell actually came about. Professor Honeycomb had insisted the two sisters simply put their heads together and devised a clever resolution to their lifelong battle: a cooperation spell born out of cooperation.

  Later, in the privacy of the Whisk Whiz Review, Ginger had rolled her eyes and shared the version she’d learned from her dad. Honey Soufflé was a conniving, ambitious brat who set out to sabotage her much more talented sister, but when her poorly executed curse backfired, Rose stepped in to alter the spell and save the day. The result was the Cooperation Chant: half curse, half recovery.

  Boysen’s account was Lyra’s favorite. He reminded the other Whizzes that sibling squabbles were perfectly normal, especially when two sisters loved and respected each other as much as Honey and Rose did. Mr. and Mrs. Berry had always told their boys that the Soufflé Sisters, like the Berry Brothers, sometimes had to let off a little steam at each other. And when two talented bakers carried their friendly feud into the kitchen, it made sense that the churn of magic would produce a genius spell. Nothing more natural in the world.

  However it came into being, the Cooperation Chant was genius. It seemed to carve out complementary bits in the edge of each Flavor, forcing them to fit together like puzzle pieces. The chant worked best when all Flavors present were operating at their fullest capacity, so it was necessary to pair it with something like Madame Hazelnut’s Deepening Spell for maximum impact.

  But when it worked…

  Lyra paused over the frosting, remembering a particularly exquisite custard Boysen had made during one of their weekend sessions. She’d been bewailing Professor Honeycomb’s assignment, insisting that cherry and lavender did not and would not go together. Boysen just smiled, performed this cooperation chant a few times… and proved her deliciously wrong.

  With a sigh, Lyra pulled herself back to the present moment. Of course the Flavor King had mastered the Soufflé Sisters’ spell. He had years of experience in both baking and sibling drama to inform him. But whenever Lyra tried to follow, her will always fell short of the spell’s minimum requirement.

  That was the problem with the Soufflé Sisters Cooperation Chant. You had to mean it.

  Lyra narrowed her eyes.

  Well, Madames Honey and Rose… I really do mean it.

  Staring at the bowl, Lyra let her world contract to the awareness of those two Flavors. She listened to boysenberry’s descant. She heard how lightly and deftly it floated over vanilla’s melody. Then, focusing all her will on the idea of Flavor unity, she mentally recited the chant.

  A pulse of vibrant green light surged out of her hands, but it faded before it could reach the frosting.

  Lyra set her lips in a determined line, planted her feet a bit more firmly on the gleaming mahogany floor, and tried again. This time, the pulse of light did touch the frosting, but the green was much less vivid.

  Can’t have faint, watery cooperation, Lyra chided herself. That won’t do.

  Closing her eyes, Lyra called upon all her senses. She imagined the feel of the silky smooth frosting under her fingertips, and the decadent smell of vanilla with just the right ripple of boysenberry running through it. She pictured the exact shade of green the light needed to be to prove the spell a total success. Her mouth watered as she dreamed about that first bite, taste buds savoring a perfect ‘sweet-and-sharp’ balance. Finally, she listened internally for the song of two Flavors singing as one, without either voice being lost.

  It’s like when Mom and Dad sing.

  Her eyes flew open at the thought, and she felt one corner of her mouth turn up in a smile.

  She didn’t need to recreate the Soufflé Sisters’ version of ‘cooperation.’ The Treble version was even more harmonious.

  The words of the chant sang through her mind on their own accord. Guilt at the accidental music stabbed briefly through Lyra’s happiness, but it vanished the next moment as the spell took effect. Dazzling green light pulsed from her hands and enveloped the bowl, feeling like an extension of the wave of purpose surging through her will.

  Still smiling, Lyra felt Boysen’s gaze from the work-station behind her. She glanced back to see him staring, open-mouthed, at the green light slowly sinking into her bowl of frosting.

  He raised a single eyebrow. Nice, his eyes seemed to say. She grinned at him, then exchanged a quick nod before turning back to her own counter.

  The exam was proceeding as smoothly as she could wish. Texture was done. Flavor was done. She’d only had one musical slip-up, and no one could call it intentional. The cakes were ready to come out of the oven.

  A sudden heavy silence fell over Lyra’s mind, like a cloud of cinnamon and honey wafting across her imagination.

  It was time for the Presentation component.